


Come At Once If Convenient

by htebazytook



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, First Time, Humor, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omegaverse, PWP, Porn, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers something new about his flatmate.   PWP!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come At Once If Convenient

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a stab at Omegaverse.

**Title:** Come At Once If Convenient  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17!  
 **Warnings:** dub con, Omegaverse, dom/sub themes  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** John/Sherlock  
 **Time Frame:** series 1  
 **Author's Notes:** Taking a stab at Omegaverse AU.  
 **Summary:** John discovers something new about his flatmate. PWP!

> **Come at once if convenient.  
>  S**

****

> You need to get a new line

> **Why?  
>  It works on you. **

> Not now that you're the boy  
>  who cried come at once

But John's already wondering if maybe, this time, Sherlock really does truly need him for something. It was certainly probable that Sherlock could've got himself into genuine trouble through negligence or stubbornness or out of sheer boredom.

> You know I'm at work

> **Yes.**

John waits, then remembers this is Sherlock he's dealing with.

> I'm not leaving work  
>  for anything less than you  
>  being mortally wounded
> 
> And even then I'm just  
>  going to call an  
>  ambulance

> **Your surgery gig  
>  hardly counts as a job.**
> 
> **You've been thinking of  
>  leaving this one before  
>  your contract is up anyway.**
> 
> **And I need you.**

> You're a grown alpha.  
>  You'll survive

> **I need your help with the case.**

> You were quite clear when  
>  you told me to bugger off  
>  earlier so you could think

> **Please.**

John hmphs at his phone. It's true he isn't very interested in retaining this job. His shift's nearly over and the other GP's are the sort of alphas who sit around in the break room and scoff at omega employees who dared to have the same qualifications as they did.

> I'll come. 

John shrugs on his jacket and sneaks away past the gossiping receptionist. It's a bitterly cold day even if it is springtime, and he's just turning onto Marylebone High Street and shivering against the wind when his phone chimes. He pulls it out with frozen fingers and frowns at Sherlock's text.

> **I'll make sure of it.**

*

John smells it as soon as he opens the front door. The alpha suppressant patch he wears at work thankfully prevents him from mounting the next thing he sees, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to rather a lot.

John follows the scent up the stairs. Was it some hapless omega in their first heat who had run to Sherlock for help? Was this an ill advised foray into studying sex and Sherlock was up there with some delicious omega who wanted to take two alphas at once?

Sherlock is nowhere to be found on the first floor. John stands in the kitchen and narrows his eyes at the stairs leading up to his own room. Why would Sherlock have deposited an omega up there? Some twisted Sherlockian idea of doing John a favor given the woeful tale that was John's love life? 

John stands before his closed bedroom door for a long moment relishing the heady scent of arousal in the air before forcing himself to come to his senses. He takes a steadying breath and opens the door.

"Sherlo—oh . . . my . . . oh." John has a death grip on the door knob with one hand and is clawing at the doorframe with the other.

Sherlock, who is sprawled out naked on John's bed, exuding sex appeal and reeking of omega pheromones, gives a put upon sigh. "You're going to have to fuck me now, of course. Carry on."

"But you're . . . I thought you were . . ."

"Clearly not."

"But you _said_ you were an alpha." Maybe if John keeps talking to Sherlock he'll forget about the overpowering instinct to pounce on him. 

"Did I though?" Sherlock stretches, soft skin over hard shifting muscles and his throat and mouth and weeping cock and dear God suppressants could only do so much. Sherlock smiles briefly when he catches John watching him. "I've failed to correct people who assume I'm an alpha, certainly. It's far more conducive to my work."

"More conducive than having half of Scotland Yard fighting over the right to fuck you? I'd say so, yeah."

Sherlock's nose scrunches up disdainfully. "No matter what the majority of self-deluded alphas may think, they haven't the authority to decide who gets to have at me." 

"I didn't mean . . . " If John is honest with himself he's pretty much determined to get some sex out of this by now, and spirited discussions of chauvinism aren't likely to help his case. 

"Anyway, Lestrade is the only one of them who I've let fuck me, and that was only because I forgot to take my heat suppressants during a case. Donovan found out, which was admittedly Lestrade's fault for taking me over the desk in his office, but he also swore her to secrecy about it. And that drives alphas like her _mad_." Sherlock's mouth quirks up.

John suspects that Donovan probably finds the idea of an omega masquerading as an alpha unnatural, and it would certainly explain her constant digs at Sherlock, but in the face of Sherlock gnawing his bottom lip and eyeing John up while naked and desperate to be ravished John is _really_ not at all keen to debate her motivations right this minute.

"Take that _off_ ," Sherlock says impatiently.

"Er."

"The patch. Oh, I know you've been wearing them a lot since they hit the market—classic case of alpha guilt, though you of course think of it as being responsible when you deal with so many kinds of people at a surgery. Most alphas find it rather demeaning don't they? The idea that they're under some sort of obligation to rein in their prized sexual aggression. Personally I—"

"Are you saying I am not _enough_ of an alpha?" John would show _him_ . . . 

Sherlock looks terribly smug.

John pushes his sleeve up and toys with the edge of the patch. He wants Sherlock tremendously much even _with_ it—he's a bit terrified of how his body will react once it's off. Sherlock's the sort of person, omega or not, who will probably hold John accountable if he gets overzealous and tries to claim him, and John didn't know _what_ would happen. "Is that what happened this time too, you 'forgot'?"

Sherlock smiles again. "You think I did this on purpose? You think this is me cleverly seducing you?"

"Well?"

"I'm not on suppressants anymore precisely because I tend to forget about them. I normally take precautions, lock myself away and masturbate for a few days, you know how it is." Sherlock is studying John intently, though not in nearly the same way he usually does. It's slow and appreciative and Sherlock licks his lips when he meets John's eyes again. "I haven't had to deal with it yet since you've moved in, and I was much too preoccupied with my current case to worry about such a trifling thing as biology. Besides." And he licks his lips again. "I think I've just discovered a far more convenient solution." 

"No." Sherlock wants sex, he doesn't want _John_. And John had never even considered wanting Sherlock to want him, but . . .

"Just come over here and get it over with," Sherlock says imperiously, which only makes John want to dominate him even more.

" _No_ , Sherlock," John orders.

It doesn't work in the least. "Ugh, I just want to get back to the case!" Sherlock is behaving like a brat, but he also can't help going into heat.

John stands in the doorway, wavering. "Sherlock . . . "

"Please." Sherlock is crawling closer on the bed, now, looking longingly up at John through half lidded eyes. "Fuck me. Use me. I want you to, John."

John's mouth goes dry. He rips his patch off and gasps at the onslaught of lust. His cock hardens and wild fantasies infest his thoughts and he can't imagine why he had hesitated in the first place when a gorgeous, unabashedly aroused creature like Sherlock was on his bed and asking for it.

Sherlock looks very smug indeed, now. He moves to get off the bed—

"Stop," John says firmly, and Sherlock's whole body goes still, eyes glued to John's and waiting for instruction. "Lay back like you were."

"Lie."

John fists his hand in Sherlock's hair tightly for emphasis, then lets go and steps away. "Now."

Sherlock stops smirking and relaxes on his back on John's mattress, breathing gone shallow. 

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John asks quietly. 

"I want whatever you want. I want you."

"Finger yourself."

Sherlock does as he's told, rubbing over his dripping hole before shoving two fingers inside. Slowly in and out, adjusting to the intrusion and searching for the best angle.

"Is that how you want me to fuck you?"

Sherlock jams his fingers deeper, fucking himself ruthlessly now, making obscene wet sounds and filing the air with his musk impossibly more. John was surprised every alpha _and_ beta in a one mile radius wasn't making a coordinated effort to break down the front door.

John walks over to him, reaches down to cup Sherlock's face and thumb over his cheekbone. It makes Sherlock glance at him before closing his eyes and giving himself over to sensation again with an expression that could only be described as orgasmic. John dips one finger into Sherlock's parted mouth and Sherlock sucks on it obediently, licking lewdly and rolling his tongue around it by turns. 

John removes his spit-slick finger and trails it down Sherlock's heaving chest, into the valley between his ribs and teasing through his pubic hair until he's got his hand around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock starts to arc his hips up but thinks better of it, fucks his arse harder and lets John hold the base of his cock and spread precome over the head unhurriedly.

John stills Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's unfocused eyes lock with John's and turn attentive. 

"Undress me," John says, giving Sherlock's cock a parting squeeze before letting go.

Sherlock scrambles to obey, sitting up and fumbling with the buttons on John's shirt and his frazzledness is as much a turn on as anything else because John honestly can't remember a time he'd seen Sherlock so out of sorts.

Sherlock yanks John's jeans down, and John is just moving to kick his shoes off in order to step out of them when Sherlock's nuzzles against John's cock through his pants. John groans and lets him, bucking against Sherlock's face a few times before stepping back and removing the rest of his clothes himself.

John looks up to find Sherlock watching him avidly. He's disheveled and angular, blushing up his neck and across his cheekbones, cock pressing against his belly and John can _see_ his natural lubrication fucking dripping down his pale thighs. Best of all though is the expression on Sherlock's face – he is _enthralled_ by the sight of John, staring directly at his cock like he wants to devour it.

"Come inside me," Sherlock says raggedly. "I want you to claim me."

It lights something electric in John's blood but as much as he wants to, he also doesn't think Sherlock would appreciate the aftermath. It is extremely difficult to ignore Sherlock's pleading expression but _someone_ has to maintain their sanity, here. He digs a condom out of the bedside table.

"John, no, I _want_ —"

John shuts him up by pressing the Durex packet to his lips. "No. You'll take what I give you."

Sherlock holds his gaze, turns his head and tears it open with his teeth.

John strokes his hair. "Good. Now put it on me."

Sherlock pulls the condom out of the packet and rolls it onto John's cock. He licks John's balls and stares up at him while he does it.

John shoves Sherlock back down on the bed and climbs on top of him, pining Sherlock's arms above his head where they'd landed as he fell. He swipes his tongue across Sherlock's upper lip before tilting Sherlock's jaw to crush their mouths together.

Sherlock gives a husky moan and moves his mouth in tandem, twines a leg up around one of John's to pull him down so their cocks bump together. He lets John's tongue invade his mouth and sucks on it, squirms in delight when John pulls back slightly to nip at his lips and chin and throat.

"You want to get fucked, don't you Sherlock? _Mm_ . . . " John sucks hard enough on his neck to leave a mark, then kisses the spot apologetically. "You want my cock filling you up til you can't fucking think of anything else."

Sherlock's breath catches. He can't quite meet John's eyes. "Yes," he says, and his voice is like dark red wine. 

"Turn over for me."

Sherlock flips over so quickly he nearly knocks John off the bed. John runs his hands over the expanse of Sherlock's back, down to knead his firm arse before spreading his thighs and hiking Sherlock's lower body up. 

Sherlock's arsehole is already gaping and begging to be fucked. John stuffs three fingers inside and curves them up against Sherlock's prostate, which makes Sherlock shudder and curse under his breath. When he removes his fingers he presses them to Sherlock's lips to make him taste himself, and Sherlock laps his own juices up eagerly.

John rubs his shaft between Sherlock's arsecheeks, lines his cock up to Sherlock's entrance and pushes against it teasingly before penetrating. Sherlock moans, straining into it.

"You want more?"

Sherlock nods frantically.

"Fuck yourself on it."

Sherlock rocks back against him again, impaling himself inch by inch.

"Yes, that's it." John groans at the sight. "Take it. _Fuck_. Deeper, now." Sherlock does it. And _shit_ , Sherlock's body is hot, amazingly hot, _so_ hot and _so_ unbelievably tight for him and John is starving for more of it. He holds Sherlock's hips still and fucks him hard, deep, slow. 

Sherlock's face is turned against a pillow, utterly rapt. He clutches at it and gasps, "Oh, you feel so . . . _ah_ , just, _just_ like that . . . "

"Tell me how it feels."

"So big," Sherlock moans. " _So_ good . . . God, I want—"

John's grip on Sherlock's hips tightens. " _Beg_ me."

"More, please, John, give me more of your cock _please_ , want it so badly." Sherlock's head rolls against the pillow in frustration. " _Please_ please please . . . '

John pushes forcefully until he's fully inside, locked there with Sherlock's arse clenching exquisitely as he tries to adjust to his girth. Sherlock's moans are high pitched and desperate and he keeps saying the first breath of John's name.

John bites at Sherlock's shoulder blade. "You're mine," he pants. "You're going to take my cock whenever I please, and you'll love that won't you? Such a filthy _slut_ . . . "

Sherlock cries out as John fucks him deeper, knotting him, stretching him, taking him. "More," he whines. "Please more."

John gives him more, sealed deep inside of that pulsating heat and thrusting faster and faster. Sherlock is overwhelmed, muscles tightening and relaxing and his breathing replaced by bitten off moans. John growls and reaches around to stroke Sherlock's cock, uses the lubrication streaming out of him to slicken the shaft and jerking Sherlock in time with his thrusts. Sherlock makes a wild noise from under him that John feels up to the roots of his hair, fucking himself on John's cock just as much as John is fucking into him. 

"John . . . oh _God_ I'm going to come, I'm—"

John holds the base of Sherlock's cock, stilling his hips.

"Let me. _Make_ me. John, _please_."

John pumps Sherlock's cock faster, feels it starting to twitch needily. "Now."

Sherlock comes, tense and silent and twisting up the sheets. His body clenches around John's cock maddeningly and it only takes a few frenzied thrusts before John's climax rips through him. 

The haze of desire recedes reluctantly, tiny bursts of pleasure prickling along synapses while his slowing heartbeat fills his ears and blocks his brain. John basks in the throbbing delirium of it until he feels movement beneath him - Sherlock has collapsed fully onto the bed. John just follows him, nuzzling into his hair and dropping kisses on the nape of his neck.

"Thanks very much indeed, John," Sherlock breathes, after several heart-pounding minutes have passed. "Please get off of me, now."

For all that John is so drained he can barely conceive of moving, Sherlock really is awfully bony. John pulls out, ties off the condom with lazy fingers before flinging himself belly-down onto the bed next to him. He turns his head to face Sherlock and Sherlock grins, though his eyes are heavy lidded and unusually soft.

"Well then," Sherlock says, sounding more like himself and less like a beguiling siren. "I do think we can agree this has been mutually beneficial."

John laughs. "I'll say. Same time next heat?"

"I rather think so, yes. Though I'll be aroused again quite soon, if you'd care to see to that as well. That is, unless _work_ is more important, of course?"

John laughs again. "You're a prat."

Sherlock stretches out on the bed luxuriously, glancing at John under his eyelashes. "Well then," he drawls. "I suppose you'll just have to punish me for my impertinence."

*


End file.
